


Netflix and Cafuné

by missameliep



Series: Second Chances [6]
Category: Desire & Decorum (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Desire & Decorum, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missameliep/pseuds/missameliep
Summary: Hamid is having a bad day and refuses to talk about it. Elizabeth will do her best to cheer him up, which includes Netflix, brigadeiro and cafuné.
Series: Second Chances [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465849
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Netflix and Cafuné

**Author's Note:**

> * Cafuné is a Portuguese word that can be translated as stroking one’s hair.  
> * English is not my first language.  
> * The non-English words and sentences are translated in the end.

A ping from her mobile interrupts Marisa Monte’s melodious voice for a mere second to announce an incoming message, and Elizabeth’s eyes moved from the lotions to the device on the bench next to the tub. The sight of the picture of the most enthusiastic of her friends on the screen and a wide smile curled her lips, like it usually does whenever there’s a new message from him.

Looking at the tub so inviting, she sighed then blew out the vanilla scented candles. 

_This is for a greater good_ , she thought on her way to take a shower instead. _Hamid would do the same for me. Well, perhaps not exactly the same, but still…_

Forty-five minutes later, she was at the lift checking if there was lipstick on her teeth and tucked some curls behind her ear. The doors opened to the familiar hallway and Elizabeth crossed the distance to Hamid’s flat wondering what might’ve happened. It’s been about a month and a half since their fortuitous encounter, and he’s been the opposite of sad or dismayed. In fact, Hamid’s positive attitude is one amongst his many characteristics she admires.

After ringing the bell, she bent to remove the sneakers and her eyes were greeted by an unexpected sight: instead of one of his fashionable looks, Hamid was wearing grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt contrasting with his tawny skin. His damp dark hair had been combed back, but a few strands were falling to his forehead. The impression of a smile on his face and the tired eyes disconcerted her, barely resembling the cheerful and energetic person she watched a movie with three days ago.

It took a moment for her tongue to acknowledge his greeting and respond.

Stepping aside, he quietly invited her in. The closet door already opened to receive her sneaker, coat and scarf, and a pair of turquoise slippers at the floor, just waiting for her. She remembers the day she arrived at his flat and they were at that same spot. _“A treat for your feet,”_ Hamid said that day, making her feel even more welcomed at his home.

The scent of soap and shampoo hung in the air, even after he soundless scuffed away with his grey slippers, disappearing inside the kitchen.

Carefully, she trailed behind. From the doorway, Elizabeth observed while he picked two cans of soda from the fridge.

Without meeting her gaze, he said softly, “I appreciate that you came, Liz,” he paused for a second, the lack of the usual joviality more evident. “But, I must say I’m embarrassed that I’ve dragged you here. You’re tired and had a long day –”

“Hey! Don’t apologise, Hamid,” she cut him off and inched closer, trying to meet his eyes, “That’s what friends are for.”

A weak smile on his lips as he walked past her and into the living room; and he arranged the cans over the coffee table, where everything else was set for the movie and pizza. The city lights flood the room, creating unfamiliar shadows and joining the soft glow coming from the corridor and the pale white brilliance from Hamid’s mobile. 

Elizabeth asked, stepping closer, “So… bad day?”

Hamid stopped typing and his eyes moved away from the screen. “Tiresome.”

“What happened?”

“Not one thing particularly…” He let out a heavy breath. “You know when a day just drains your energy?”

Their eyes met and Elizabeth nodded. 

For years she had too many of those while dealing with her mother’s illness, and all that revolved around it. Even when she didn’t feel like talking about her disappointment with an unsuccessful treatment or the hard time the health insurance company was giving her, having her best friend beside her usually helped lift her spirit, even if all they did was sit together doing nothing. Elizabeth was thankful for Renata and her family and their support throughout those trying times. Hamid, however, has no family at London, and according to Bartholomew not that many friends either. It must be lonely.

She inhaled deeply, summoning courage, and stare fixed on his feet, she crossed the distance. “You sound like you could use a hug.” Without meeting his gaze, she said softly, “I’m gonna hug you now, if that’s alright.”

Giving him a moment to protest or step back, though she doubted he would, she inched closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. 

Hamid immediately responded, encircling her with his arms and pulling her closer to his chest.

After a moment of silence, just the rhythmic thumping of his heart against her ear, she looked up and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it or be distracted from it?”

“The second.”

His chin rested on the top of her head, and she looked down. It was the first time the communicative diplomat avoided speaking about a subject. 

_First the gloominess, and now this. What’s happening?_

“How can I help?” 

His chest heaved with a deep breath. “You’re already helping,” he said softly, and his arms held her tighter.

Wordlessly, they lingered like that for a few more breaths.

When he let go of her, he slumped onto the large black couch, and resumed the task of choosing the pizza. She sat beside him, pulling her legs up and folding them, hands resting on her knees, while she peeked at the screen. 

“Have any thoughts on the pizza, Liz? I thought about ordering a veggie. But I can ask anything else for you.”

“Veggie is good.”

With that settled, it was time to pick a movie, and they went through the catalogue.

“Any preferences on the genre?”

“Not really. And I believe it’s your turn to pick the movie anyway.”

Humming, he browsed a while longer through the catalogue.

“How about _It Lives in the Woods_? I could watch it again.”

“Is it as good as people say?”

“Better! Though you probably wouldn’t enjoy it. It’s too gory…”

“I’ve read the books and I liked it,” she countered.

“If you are sure… I don’t want to be blamed if you have nightmares.”

An unladylike snort was the only answer to his teasing. Leaning forward, she pulled his wrist and pressed the play.

A ghost of a smile played on the man’s lips. Almost imperceptible. Perhaps it was prompted by her reaction, perhaps it was due to the fact the couch was very large indeed, but they ended up huddled in one of its corners, her knee pressing his leg, his shoulder resting against hers, barely any space between them.

It happened so naturally, that she does not acknowledge it at first nor does she recoil or scoot over when she eventually realizes the nearness. Twisting a curl around her fingers to distract herself from the fluttering of butterflies on her stomach, she focus on the screen in front of them.

The silence is filled by the beats of an electronic music and Elizabeth’s green eyes are glued to the screen.

Hamid however keeps stealing glances at her, her features illuminated by the dim light from the screen, her eyes wide and attentive accompanying the initial sequence.

“Oh, that’s different from the book,” she mumbles.

When one of the actors turns into a monstruous figure and attacks the other actor, her body jerks back. One hand covered a shocked gasp, while the other instinctively reached for Hamid’s arm, grasping it tightly.

Pausing the movie, he said softly, “We can watch something else…”

Her eyes darted to his face, lips pursed, stifling a laugh.

“I simply wasn’t expecting that,” she explained, unable to hide the mix of embarrassment and annoyance on her tone, while straightening herself and releasing the iron grip around his arm. “This was totally different from the book.”

Turning around, she grabbed a throw pillow and placed it on her lap, resting her elbows over it.

“Alright.”

Hamid hit the play, and they watched the movie in unusual silence.

Chin propped on both hands; her eyes moved from the screen to the man at her side. Though he was facing the telly, he seemed lost in his thoughts. She wanted to ask what was troubling him, but Elizabeth knew better that sometimes talking about one’s problems can be hard and painful. Talking is not the only way to easy one’s mind. She wondered what does the trick for him.

Frowning, he rested his cheek on his fisted hand, and let out a deep breath that had nothing to do with the movie.

Mustering all her courage, she does not look at him or say a word, her hand simply snakes its way to find Hamid’s. Encircling it, she gives it a gentle squeeze, like he does whenever she needs reassurance. A tender and meaningful gesture.

His eyes flicked at her direction, trying to meet her gaze and he smiles – it was a small and tentative one, still marked by this tiredness that weights on him, but it was the closest to his genuine one so far.

Their joined hands were brought to rest over the pillow, and his body followed. Scooting over, he slowly closed the distance between them. She stared at him while he did. Her heartbeat sped up. Her eyes drawn to his shapely lips until his head bowed to rest on her shoulder.

_Remember why you’re here. This is not about this infatuation…_

She breathed out relieved and breathed in the pleasant herbal scent of shampoo.

Trying to make himself more comfortable, considering how much taller he is compared to her, his body stirred, and Hamid’s moist hair tickled her neck, and his warm breath fanned her collarbone. Finally, his left hand rested on her waist, and he stopped.

Her heart drummed louder, beating against its cage, the cadence resembling the percussion of a samba school, and she hoped it would go unnoticed.

“Thank you for being here,” he muttered.

“You don’t need to thank me…” Her hand raised, and Elizabeth considered running her fingers through his hair, but pulled it back at the last moment, her fingers delving into her own curls.

Quietly, they remained in that same position, neither paying any attention to the movie. His face buried in the crook of her neck and his thumb stroking the small hand clasped in his. Her eyes closed, revelling on that feeling, trying to engrave it in her mind. Every single one of her breaths painstakingly slow, afraid the smallest movement could disturb the moment.

It wasn’t Elizabeth, however, who interrupted it.

For a change, it wasn’t Princess Leia either.

The persistent ring sounded for the second time, and they pulled away. At first, neither seemed to remember the pizza.

“I’ll get that.” Hamid said, his eyes lingering on her, then he raised from the couch.

For the last time during the movie, Hamid had angled himself to rest his elbow over the armrest, one palm holding his head, lost in his thoughts.

“Hamid,” Elizabeth called him softly. When his eyes darted to her, she pointed at the tele. “The movie is over.”

“What time is it?” He reached for his mobile at the table. “Do you still want to watch the sequel?”

“Sure, but… is there anything that I could do to cheer you up?”

His gaze lingered on her face, probably considering her words. “You’ve done more than enough… Your company makes me feel better already.”

“Really?” Her question was filled with disbelief, and he nodded, forcing a smile.

“It always does, Liz,” he assured her, but his gaze dropped to his hands on his lap. “You’ll think I’m a cry-baby…”

“Hey! Who am I to judge anyone about crying?”

He chuckled and met her eyes again. There was a wistful smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes. “The one thing I want, I cannot have. I wish to lay down on my bed and have my mom tell me some story until I fall asleep. Just like she did when I was a boy and had a bad day… Life always seemed easier back then.”

_How hard must it be to have trapped in one body a soul that seeks for adventure, and a heart so intimately tied to his family._

Unable to find any word that could bring comfort – probably because there is none –, Elizabeth offered a sympathetic smile, her own heart tight.

“Since I’m not a boy anymore, and she’s not here, I guess TV and pizza will have to do.”

While he searched for the movie, Elizabeth excused herself, going to the en-suite bathroom, where she found Princess Leia.

The light revealed the cat curled inside the sink, and her sleepy eyes blinked slowly. The displeased expression, however, faded with each gentle scratch on her fluff head and under her chin.

“What can I do to cheer your dad up, _amiga_?” The cat purred and let out a loud meow. “Yeah, I think so too… We should do something.”

The cat jumped to the floor and repeatedly rubbed her body against her legs, then lied on the floor showing her belly.

“A little too extreme for me…” Elizabeth giggled at her own joke and rubbed her foot against the cat’s stretched back. “You go ahead with that; I’ll try something else.”

Returning to the living room, she found Hamid typing on his phone. As soon as she sat by his side, he instantly put the mobile down and leaned back against the sofa to look at her.

“Are you ready?”

“Obviously pizza, Netflix and me aren’t enough to put a smile back on that face of yours,” she said the words previoulsy planned out, “So, how would you like if I prepared _brigadeiro_ for you?”

“It’s getting late… I don’t want to trouble you, Liz,” he said. “Besides, I don’t believe I have the ingredients…”

“Oh, but I do!”

“ _You_ have the ingredients?” The surprise ringing in his question released a string of giggles from her mouth.

“Can I make you some? It’s super quick. Twenty minutes tops.” She smiled and her hand rested on his arm. “What you say?”

“Alright. But I’ll help you.”

With that, Elizabeth leaped from the couch and pulled him up.

Hamid followed her closely, observing how she produced a can and a red package from her bag and hopped to the kitchen. The spring on her steps at odds with someone who had such a long day as she did, but the idea of doing something nice for him and taking care of a friend, recharged her. The same rush of energy she used to feel around her mother.

Her arms lifted and her hands dextrously tied her long curly hair in a high bun. When she turned around, Hamid averted his gaze, focusing on the package over the counter.

“Do you always carry these with you?” His question carried both surprise and a pinch of amusement.

“A girl gotta be prepared,” she said washing her hands. “Who knows when we’ll have this kind of emergency?”

He shook his head slowly and smiled to himself.

“I need a pan,” she asked, and he pointed at the lower cabinet at her right. Bending over, she picked the smallest pan and placed it over the counter. “And butter.”

Closing the fridge’s door, Hamid approached the sink and set the round pot of butter next to Elizabeth, while she shuffled through utensils at a drawer.

“Will you teach me how to prepare?”

“Sure, I’ll share my secrets with you,” she said and playfully winked, the kind of silliness she would’ve regretted instantly if it didn’t prompt the corners of his lips to pull up. “The first thing you need to know: this is the perfect powdered chocolate.” She pointed at the red package. “I tried others during my summers at Edgewater, but they don’t taste as good. So, I decided to bring a few of these along.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said reading the package’s label though most of it was in Portuguese, while she opened the can of condensed milk.

“I have more at home, so you can have this one if you want…”

“Thank you.”

“You can prepare it on the microwave too,” she said putting the pan over the cooktop. “But if you cook like this it tastes ten times better. Could you pass me the chocolate?”

He did as she asked and got closer to observe. Another tablespoon filled with chocolate powder was dropped into the pan.

“Wow! That’s a lot of chocolate!”

“There’s no such a thing!” she snorted.

“That right there proves otherwise.”

“Trust me. It’ll be delicious.”

“What else does the recipe require?”

“Nothing else.”

“Are you sure? Doesn’t sound right… Maybe we should google it.”

“Have you ever made _brigadeiro_?”

“No.”

“So you don’t have any saying in this… Just trust me,” Elizabeth spoke with confidence and moved the pan to another burner, trying to turn the heat on once more. “I’ve been doing it since I was ten and I – What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Let me,” he said softly, and she moved away. Hamid adjusted the pan over the burner and turned it on. “Please, don’t burn my kitchen down. I know it’s something people in your family do,” he mocked referring to the stories her father told them.

“Almost burnt the kitchen… almost as in didn’t burn it,” she chided. “Now, stop this negativity or I will ban you from the kitchen, dude!”

“You can’t ban me from my own kitchen!”

“Try me,” she teased, pointing the red spatula menacingly at him.

Unable to hide the small smile that parted his lips, Hamid crossed his arms and feigned annoyance. “You’re mad with power, Miss Foredale!” 

Looking at him with amusement, her own smile scrunched her nose and she turned around to resume stirring. Her heart felt lighter at the sight of his smile.

Stepping closer, he observed her.

“Do you wanna try?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Aren’t you afraid my negativity will ruin it?”

Holding the spatula in front of him, she teased, “Are you afraid of not being perfect once in your life?”

Narrowing his eyes, Hamid grabbed the utensil and changed places with her.

Smirking, he stole a sideway glance at her. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Dude, that ego of yours…” she huffed.

“That is not a denial…”

Ignoring his words, she stood by his side to supervise. “Like this,” she said, holding his wrist. “Scrapping the bottom.”

While she guided his hand, she noticed the way he looked at her and the intensity of his eyes. Instantly, her cheeks heat up, and her hand released his.

“Carry on.” She stepped back and leaned against the cabinet, watching him from a safe distance.

For the next several minutes, they took turns stirring and making fun at each other and it seemed whatever upset him had been momentarily forgotten.

When the thick cream loosened from the bottom of the pan, she turned off the heat.

“Now we wait until it cool down a bit.”

“Too much trouble,” he sighed. “If you wanted a sweet, we could’ve eaten a candy bar.”

“I’ll make you eat your words, dude,” she groaned, playfully bumping her shoulder against his side, causing him to chuckle and return the gesture.

Under his attentive gaze, the mixture was transferred from the pan to a plate, and Elizabeth took two spoons from a drawer. They returned to the living room together and she placed the plate over the coffee table.

Taking a spoonful of the dark brown cream, she blew it and offered him the spoon.

“It’s still hot.” He looked at the mist dancing over the mixture.

“Blow it,” she suggested with a smile, and his eyes narrowed at the spoon, inspecting it with suspicion. Though she assumed most of it was an act.

“Shouldn’t it be round?”

“It’s a better version.”

Her gaze unwavering from his face when his lips finally closed around the spoon. She didn’t miss the way his cheeks rounded when his lips pulled at the corners.

“So, what you think?”

The spoon was pulled out and forcing a neutral expression, he replied flatly, “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?” she asked taking a spoon to her own mouth, and the man smiled. 

“I admit it. It’s good. I understand why you’d find comfort in it.”

“Then you admit I was right?”

He leaned and served himself another portion. “I concede.” The spoon made another trip to his mouth and he grinned. “It is delicious, and you didn’t burn anything. I’m pleased to have witnessed the beggining of this tradition in my own kitchen.”

“Next time, I hope you don’t question my culinary abilities.”

“It won’t happen again.” His head rested against the back of the sofa.

Elizabeth took the spoon from him and refilled it, then she sat back too. A low moan of appreciation at her favourite sweet.

Hamid hit play, then fidgeted with the remote, looking at it, as if it could help him organize his thoughts. Tentatively, he asked softly, without meeting her eyes, “Do you ever feel like you’re just… disappointing… everyone?”

“Pretty much all the time… But I was told I have an unhealthy necessity to please people, so… I’m not a good parameter.”

He exhaled and kept fiddling with the remote.

“Why you ask?”

“Just wondering…”

“Who do you think you disappointed?”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You never bother me… Well, except when you deliberately try to bother me. That’s very annoying.”

“I can’t help it. It’s fun teasing you.”

She shook her head slowly, took the remote from his hand and paused the movie. Then she posed the same question.

“…Mostly my parents.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“No. It’s more of a general feeling.”

“What happened today? You seemed fine when we talked last night…”

“It was not something specific, but more of a general realisation.”

“What prompted this realisation?” 

“Like I’ve told you, there was another meeting to discuss the clauses of that agreement to reduce taxes on the ingress of – Sorry, that’s not relevant,” he interrupted himself, and started over. “I was sitting there, surrounded by all those people after four and a half hours of fruitless discussions and a general lack of diplomatic manners from our counterparts, struggling to not let them notice my mind had drifted away, and –”

“Were they rude to you?” she blurted out, a concerned frown creasing her features.

“Not particularly. It was more of an inobservance of standard protocols,” he explained, and she noticed the smile her concern prompted. “During all these rounds discussing this agreement – which is quite insignificant to my country – I just realised how dull and pointless my work is. Despite my well-intentions, I have not achieved anything that actually matters since I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if they do sign the agreement,” he said, rubbing his face, “it will not make the slightest difference in the lives of the Turkish citizens.”

“I see,” she replied, though she couldn’t understand why, suddenly, this started to bother him. On their conversations, Hamid made clear he was overqualified for this position and the only attractive was the opportunity to live at London. “Why is this particular agreement distressing you so much? And what does it have to do with your parents?”

His fingers raked his dark hair, pulling it back, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“I finally understood I’m wasting my time and capacities here…” 

His head fell back, and his stare fixed at the ceiling. 

“Sevim sent me a video. Little Cemil started walking today.” A grin parted his lips, showing his white teeth, and Elizabeth cooed. “He’s growing up so fast! Last time I saw him, he just started crawling. Now he calls my sister mummy. He even waved at the camera saying bye to me. Hamid _dayı_.” A humourless laugh escaped his mouth. “Who would’ve thought? I guess Anne was right after all. I’m really missing everything.”

His hands covered his face, and Elizabeth didn’t know if she should say anything, instead, she patted his arm.

His tone was unusually heavy when he spoke again. “I was so certain this was what I was supposed to do. Where I was supposed to be. At least for now… But perhaps they are right. All of them… Perhaps I should go back to Istanbul, like _Anne_ keeps telling me.”

Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. Despite the knowledge that day will come sooner or later, the mere idea of bidding farewell to Hamid hit her like a shard piercing deep on her chest, momentarily stealing her breath away. She could only hear him talking about his mother’s many plans for his return to Istanbul, that includes a marriage with a nice Muslim girl.

“I didn’t realise,” she started, and it was hard to continue with the lump on her throat, “that your mother was pressuring you like that.”

“She is. For quite some time, actually,” he said, tilting his head to meet Elizabeth’s gaze. “Over the past month, we’ve had several conversations revolving around this subject. She says I should go back, settle down, start my own family… Last week we had an argument because I rescheduled my next visit and she accused me of being a bad son. _Baba_ told me she was about to buy a ticket to fly here and take me home herself, like I’m still a boy…”

Elizabeth was speechless. There was so much to process, and she wondered if the stories the tabloids published about them had anything to do with his mother’s insistence lately.

“Even though _baba_ wouldn’t pressure me like _anne_ does, I believe he agrees with her…”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, she was awfully familiar with the feelings he described, except the part about the work, obviously.

Voice barely above a whisper, Elizabeth asked, “Do you even want any of that, Hamid?”

His hand rubbed his face, while he pondered about her question. “I don’t know. I do miss having meaningful connexions, but marriage… that’s not something I can say I have given much thought before…” He trailed off and looked away, his attention focused on the movie’s frozen image.

“Do you want to go back to Istanbul?”

“Yesterday my answer would be no. Today… I don’t know.”

Sensing the sadness in his voice, Elizabeth reached for his hand, and he averted his gaze.

“Frankly, I doubt I would have fought _anne_ if she tried to take me back home today… That’s how lost I’m feeling right now.”

“It’s normal to miss them, Hamid. You love your family,” she said softly, “From what you told me about your mother, you two seem very close.”

“We are.”

“She’ll never stop worrying…” she paused and enveloped his hand with hers. Perhaps she needed more reassurance than he did.

“ _Anne_ always worries too much about me. And my life choices. She does not approve most of them and has been remarkably vocal about it. She fears I’m losing myself, that I’m not a good Muslim here, that I neglect my prayers and don’t go to the mosque as I should… We never saw eye to eye regarding religion… But what if she has been right this entire time about this and the rest and I did make awful decisions?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question. Or if there’s even a right answer…” she mused, and took a deep breath before continuing, “Clearly I don’t know much about you and your relationship with your parents… But I do know two things. One, your mother should be proud of the man she raised. You are kind… and extraordinary, Hamid… and I hope she sees that… And two, London would be much greyer if you were not here…” She smiled at the way his eyebrows raised at her words. “Perhaps you will not agree with me, but… I’m happy that you came; and I…” she trailed off, the intensity of his eyes upon her, stealing her breath and words away. It seemed the words rekindled something into them. For once, she didn’t mind stroking his ego, and ignored his smug grin. 

“I only suggest you wait until you clear your mind to make any decision…”

“What would you do if you were me, Liz?”

“I’m not you, Hamid,” she said softly, “I don’t think I’m qualified to give you any advice.” _And it’s rude to ask that to someone who has a major crush on you, dude…_

“Family is important. You left everything behind to be with yours.”

“True. But living with my father was a long-time dream of mine and something I’ve planned my whole life… Can you say the same about moving back to Istanbul?”

Drawing in a deep breath, his brows furrowed again and he shook his head.

“I know this will sound hypocritical coming from me,” she started tentatively, “but my therapist once told me something that might apply to you: no matter how much you love your family, living up to their expectations cannot be your main goal in life.”

“I personally believe my goals were always the exact opposite of their expectations… specially _anne_ ’s,” he chuckled; and Elizabeth knew he was trying to deflect the important questions with humour. “Did your therapist say the percentual of expectations we should meet?”

Elizabeth humoured him and laughed at his banter. “I believe it depends on how much of a people-pleaser you are.”

“I live to please people!” he winked flirtly. “But perhaps in a slightly different manner…”

Elizabeth playfully smacked his arm, chiding him for not taking anything seriously.

Bowing his head, he stifled his laughter on her shoulder, but didn’t move away once it stopped.

“I just don’t know what to make of what I’m feeling… I wish I had answers… Or have someone tell me what to do.”

“I don’t believe someone can do that for you…” she whispered against his hair.

Hamid sighed and his arms encircled her waist.

“I’m obviously not your mother,” she said hesitantly, “but if you lie down, I could stroke your hair if you like. I always felt better when _mamãe_ did that…”

Hamid pulled away to look at her, and his lips twitched, the line replaced by a wide smile. “I think I’d like that.”

She scooted over, making room for him and his long legs. A moment later, his head was on her lap, and a long content sigh left his lips when her fingers delved into his hair and started running through his locks.

Elizabeth loves his hair. Dark and thick and soft.

This was not the first time her fingers touched his hair. Her fingers have playfully tousled his damp locks one evening at the pub. Her fingers have extracted some persistent leaves that nestled on his head after they cycled on the park. But this time was different. This time there was no one around. This time there was no need to rush. This time there was no need to hide how she enjoyed it. Not even from him. Therefore, her fingers moved slowly and gently.

This time she could revel on the smoothness of his hair.

Elizabeth loves his hair, indeed. She loves when it’s neatly coiffed, not a hair out of place, matching the elegance of Hamid’s expensive suits, and the look of someone who could’ve stepped out of the pages of GQ. However, she loves even more when it’s windswept or messy. There’s something endearing about it, a kind of perfection in its own imperfection. Perhaps the broken aura of Hamid’s flawlessness is something she can relate, makes her feel closer to him. The more imperfect he seems, the more perfect he becomes.

“You have magical hands,” he purrs, and she thanks him.

Her touch clearly relaxed him, and the closed eyelids were only one indication of it. Each stroke releasing the tension from his shoulders and easing the frown on his eyebrows. Now, everything on his expression reminds the softness she associates with him. The soft angles of his face. The soft curls of his smile.

The corner of his lips pulls up, rounding his cheeks further. Her own cheeks round and heat up at the thought of how handsome Hamid is.

_Does he ever think about the conversation we had that night? Would it make a difference if he knew how I feel? Or how much I’d miss him if he leaves? That perhaps we could – Seriously? What’s the matter with me?_ She stops herself before her mind wanders down that path. _Tonight is not about me and my infatuation. I’m not like Léo._

“What kinds of stories did your mother tell you?” she whispered her question to satiate her curiosity and keep her mind from wandering, while her fingertips ran through his hair, lightly brushing his scalp.

“Any kind of story. From Turkish folklore to fairy tales, Greek mythology to stories made up just to make me feel better…”

“That’s sweet.”

“Tell me a story,” he asked softly, one of his hands caressing her knee. His touch caused her skin to tingle, even with the thick layer of fabric covering her legs, and she inhaled deeply before her mouth opened again.

“I’m not a storyteller like you and your mother, Hamid…”

“Anybody can tell a story, Liz,” he encouraged, “It’s part of the human nature.”

“When you put it that way… Are you interested in the tales about my evil stepmother? There’s a scary one about Prada shoes and a poor salesperson…”

The man chucked, and his body stirred and turned. Lying on his back, he looked straight up at her. “I’ll humour you, if that’s what you truly want to talk about…”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Not really.”

“Then say anything else. Perhaps something in Portuguese.”

“Why? You don’t speak Portuguese!”

“I like hearing you speak. You sound… different. And I can learn more.”

“Alright. What do you want to learn?”

“Your darkest secrets,” he chuckled. "I won’t understand a word, which is better than confessing to an actual priest.”

“First, I don’t have dark secrets,” she snorted. “Second, I’m protestant. We don’t confess to priests.”

Hamid laughed, and she looked down at him.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing.” Her fingers returned to his hair and resumed its gentle path. “ _Estou fazendo cafuné em você._ ”

He failed to repeat after her, and she corrected him. Then Hamid repeated slowly, word by word. The word _cafuné_ rolled from his tongue and once she told him what it means, he smiled.

“I like there is a word for that.”

Other words followed, her tone low and velvety. 

It didn’t take long to Hamid stop repeating them. The sound of her voice lulled him to sleep. His breathing was quiet, but his lips conserved the smile.

_“Eu não me cansaria de acariciar seus cabelos…”_ she confided, certain that he was no longer listening.

Sitting in the dark, Elizabeth’s mind drifted while she observed the life outside the flat. Occasionally, her fingers lightly brushed Hamid’s hair and even dared wander down the side of his face, the backs of her fingers revelling on his smooth skin and the fingertips raking the light shadow growing on his jaw.

Meanwhile, one by one, the windows from a neighbouring building turned black, and she realized how late it was. The mere thought of the numerous unanswered messages and lost phone calls on her muted mobile made her heart race. 

_Oh, no! Grandma must be freaking out. And freaking dad out. And everyone else. How am I reaching my mobile on that table without waking him?_

Even stretching her arm to the fullest wasn’t enough to reach the table.

_Perhaps I can reach it with my foot._

Slowly to not wake Hamid, she raised her foot and her toes curled around the phone. On the third attempt the device was lifted from the surface. When she tried to move it out of the table, it fell, hitting the floor with a loud thump.

Hamid’s body stirred, and he raised his head and looked around.

“Sorry,” Elizabeth mumbled.

“Liz? What happened?”

“My phone… It fell… I didn’t…” she stuttered, “Sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He took the mobile from the floor and handed it to her.

“What time is it?” Hamid asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Awfully late.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so peacefully…”

“Would you wait until I woke up? What if I slept until the morning?”

“You drank a whole can of soda, I was counting on you waking up to go to the bathroom.”

**Author's Note:**

> Amiga – Portuguese – Friend;   
> Brigadeiro – Portuguese – a Brazilian dessert made of chocolate;  
> Hamid dayı – Turkish – Tio Hamid;  
> Anne – Turkish – Mother;  
> Baba – Turkish – Father;  
> Mamãe – Portuguese – Mother;  
> “Estou fazendo cafuné em você” – Portuguese – “I’m stroking your hair.”  
> “Eu não me cansaria de acariciar seus cabelos…” – Portuguese – “I would not tire of stroking your hair…”


End file.
